High-Browed

Chapter 1

He had been dreaming of some Caribbean island (populated only by girls in bikinis) when the alarm ripped through his sleep like a screeching bulldozer.

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

Hunter O’Neale jolted upright in his bed, startled. Muttering some curses under his breath, he slapped the snooze button and pushed the alarm clock off of his night stand. The sound of it clattering to the floor was quite satisfying, and Hunter settled back into his pillow with a smile. He had about a second of restored bliss before it was loudly interrupted again.

“HUNTER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! I swear to god, I’m gonna buy you an alarm clock with no damn snooze button! GET UP!”

Hunter rolled over on his bed, groaning. He freaking hated Monday mornings.

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 Metal clacked on metal as he eased the barbell back into its hold, exhaling. Getting up from the bench press, Duke Vinnson stretched out the muscles in his lower back, stifling a yawn. He grabbed his water bottle and stepped onto the treadmill, setting it at his usual morning pace. The clock read 6:35. Perfect, he had just enough time for a twenty minute run and quick shower before he had to leave for school. Duke took a short swig of his water bottle, and turned up the treadmill just a little bit.

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“He’s a asswipe with shit for brains! I'm gonna land in an early grave, because of him! Cancer or heart attack or- YOU BASTARD, MOVE IT!” His mom honked her horn belligerently and gestured wildly at the other driver, using everything as an outlet for her anger now. Joey Fletcherman flinched with embarrassment and closed his eyes, hoping that traffic would clear up soon so he could get to school and get out of the firing zone. He knew that his brother was an asswipe screw-up, but all this screaming was just giving him a headache. And he had an AP Calc test first period, so he needed his sanity intact, thank you very much.

“Not only has he ruined his reputation, he’s throwing his whole life away! How did I raise such a total shithead?!”

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Miles DeAngelo rubbed his eyes and squinted around his room, but he couldn’t see much in the dim light. Throwing off the covers , he got out of bed and yanked open the curtains, wincing as the brightness of the morning came flooding into his eyes. Crossing the room (and stumbling in the process over all the clothes, books and garbage that littered the floor), he reached into the pocket of the leather jacket that hung on his doorknob. It took some grasping around before his hand found what he was looking for and he pulled out a squashed pack of cigarettes. Of course, only one left. Opening up his window, he smoked it silently, watching a pair of birds hop around on the sparse, patchy lawn. It was only 6:55; there was plenty of time to drive to the store and get another pack. He always missed first period anyway.

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The W. Delton Boys’ Academy sprawled over its ample campus with a laid-back arrogance, its faded brick walls and castle-like towers both squat and proud. It had been an all-boys high school since 1963; before then, it had served as the private home of Warren Van Delton, who upon his death had decided that his contribution to the world would be giving up his ugly and gigantic mansion to the noble cause of education. Over the years, ivy had crept up its walls and framed its windows, and the weathervane at the top of the North Tower had had to be replaced twice, once due to a massive storm that had blown it two towns over, and then a second time due to a prank involving industrial glue, lots of cardboard, and the Dean’s car.

But the W. Delton Academy had lounged imperiously on its land like a fat aristocrat for almost five decades, swallowing the next generation of boys year after year, and then spitting them right back out into the mouths of some of the best colleges in country.

It was late October, and unusually cold; frost glazed the manicured lawns, and everything shivered in the wintery air. Students milled around the courtyard as they always did before the first bell rang, their breath hanging in front of their faces in clouds. But today, a swirling air of excitement replaced the usual air of Monday-morning monotony. Something had changed.

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AN: I'm starting a new story!!! Yay!!!!! this part is kind of short. but its more of an intro, and i haven't really figured out how to arrange my ideas so that they make sense. we'll see. but please, comments are totally appreciatedd!!